Last lullaby

by Alice Walsh

  “I’ll get it,” Emma offered.

  “Thanks, Emma.” Bram turned to an elderly woman sitting on a sofa across from Claire. “Lauren, have you met Claire’s mother, Marie?”

  Marie stood to embrace her. “Of course I meet Lauren. She come to my house often with Claire. How are you, Lauren? Is what…two years since I see you?”

  “I believe it was. So nice to see you, Marie,” said Lauren.

  “Thank you for thinking of us.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Lauren said. “How’s Pierre?”

  “He is resting.” Marie’s voice wobbled. “Is taking Ariel’s death hard.”

  Emma returned with the brandy, and Lauren gave Marie a sympathetic look before taking a seat on the sofa next to Mitch Cromwell. Anya Kaminsky sat on the other side of him. Mitch held a glass of amber liquid, but appeared sober. Oh Lord, don’t let him start crying, Lauren prayed silently. Mitch could get pathetically maudlin after a few drinks.

  For the next half hour, Lauren sipped her brandy, letting it soothe the disquiet within her. Around her, people spoke in hushed tones, everyone overly polite and cautious. All the while, Claire sat catatonically while Bram numbly acknowledged the sympathetic platitudes of colleagues, students, and friends.

  “Can I get you another drink, Lauren?” Emma asked.

  “No thanks. I’m driving, and I have to pick up Bailey from school.”

  Anya glanced at her watch. “I should be leaving soon,” she said. “I have a plane to catch.”

  “Taking a vacation?” Mitch asked.

  “I’m going to a medical conference in London, Ontario. Bram was supposed to go as well, but then—” She sighed. “I hate to leave while Claire is in such a fragile condition.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Mitch assured Anya. “Claire has friends and family, and everyone has been so kind.”

  Lauren nodded. In the short time she’d been there, a steady stream of visitors had brought baked goods and casseroles. Two florists had arrived with arrangements. Still, Claire hadn’t said a word.

  Half an hour later, as Lauren was putting on her coat in the foyer, a sharp authoritative rap came at the door. Lauren pulled it open. Two uniformed officers stood on the stoop. Rebecca Taylor from Lauren’s criminology class was one of them. The other officer was a tall man sporting a thin moustache. They had never been introduced, but Lauren had seen him in court on various occasions.

  “Hello, Lauren,” Rebecca said soberly. “We need to speak with Claire Ste Denis.”

  Why are they here? Lauren wondered. Bram said the police had questioned him for nearly two hours at the hospital the night Ariel died.

  Bram appeared in the foyer. “Hello,” he said, his voice wary. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Constable Taylor,” Rebecca said, “and this is Constable Harrison. We need to speak with Claire Ste Denis.”

  Bram frowned. “I’m Doctor Bram Warren, Claire’s husband. Is there a problem, officer?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so, Dr. Warren,” said Harrison.

  “Come in,” Bram said reluctantly. “We have visitors. We…we recently had a death in the family.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Rebecca said. “I’m very sorry.”

  Harrison nodded. “Sorry to bother you at this difficult time, Doctor.”

  Bram led them into the crowded living room. The visitors fell silent, clearly startled by the arrival of the RCMP.

  Harrison scanned the room, his gaze falling on Claire. “Mrs. Warren,” he said as he approached her.

  Dr. Ste Denis, Lauren corrected, silently.

  “You are under arrest in connection with the death of your daughter, Ariel Elizabeth Warren.”

  Confusion spread throughout the room. Claire’s mother gasped.

  Was Claire being charged with neglect? Lauren wondered. It didn’t make sense if the cause of death was SIDS.

  Officer Harrison turned to Bram. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to take her in.”

  “But—but,” Bram sputtered, “Ariel died of SIDS.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not true,” Rebecca said, lowering her voice. “Your child died from abusive head trauma—shaken baby syndrome. It’s in the medical examiner’s report.”

  Lauren felt a chill. Were they suggesting someone killed Ariel? Images too frightening to think about ran through her mind. No, she thought, it must be a mistake.

  Anya stared at the officers, a stunned look on her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but stayed silent.

  “Officer, I swear. My wife is innocent.” Bram’s voice was trembling, his words rushing out. “She would never harm our baby. She loves Ariel.”

  Claire stared at them, expressionless, still perched on her seat near the fireplace. A disapproving buzz seemed to vibrate throughout the room. Lauren looked around at the stricken faces. Claire’s mother had her hand pressed to her mouth. Mitch was twirling an empty whiskey glass in his hand. Most people wore a stunned look of disbelief as the drama played out in front of them.

  “Maybe it would be best if we had this conversation at the station,” Rebecca said.

  Claire’s mother was on her feet, her eyes fierce. “How you can…accuse my daughter of such deed?”

  “My wife wouldn’t…” Bram began, his voice breaking.

  Lauren watched as Rebecca pulled Claire’s thin arms firmly behind her back.

  “Is that necessary?” Bram asked.

  “Police procedure,” Officer Harrison said.

  Claire’s expression didn’t change. Like a puppet being manipulated, she let Rebecca slip the handcuffs around her bony wrists.

  “She’ll need a lawyer,” Lauren said, stepping forward. She looked at Bram, who gave a quick nod of confirmation. “I’ll go with Claire to the station,” she assured everyone. “I’ll have her home as soon as it can be arranged.”

  Chapter 8

  Bram placed a bowl of soup in front of Claire. “You should eat something, hon,” he said. “You need your strength.”

  Claire pushed the bowl aside. “I want Ariel,” she said, her eyes glistening with tears. “I want my baby.”

  Bram looked helplessly at Lauren, who was scrubbing pots and pans in the kitchen sink. In the five days since Ariel’s death, she had been dropping by to help out. What can I do? Bram mouthed.

  Lauren swallowed, not sure how to respond. Her heart went out to him. Claire seemed to be in a stupor, not really knowing what was going on. Today, though, she was fairly alert, certainly not in the comatose state she’d been in when they arrested her.

  “I want to see Ariel, Bram,” Claire insisted. “I want my baby.”

  Bram walked into the dining room. Lauren wiped her hands on a dishtowel and followed. “For God’s sake, Lauren,” he whispered, his eyes filled with anguish. “What the hell am I to do? Our baby’s body hasn’t even been released yet.”

  Lauren shook her head, feeling helpless.

  “I’ve viewed the body,” Bram continued. “Maybe Claire needs to see…I just don’t know what it would do to her.”

  Lauren winced. “Maybe…Dr. Kaminsky might have a suggestion.”

  Nodding, Bram picked up a cordless phone and punched in the number. “Milly, it’s Dr. Warren,” he said. “Could you have Dr. Kaminsky call me when she checks in from the conference?… I’m at home.”

  Lauren glanced at Claire, who sat at the table, the bowl of soup untouched beside her. “Ariel,” Claire murmured. “Where’s Ariel?”

  “I’ll try to get her to lie down,” Bram said.

  Lauren nodded. “She could probably use a rest.”

  Taking Claire’s hand, Bram pulled his wife to her feet as easily as if she were a child. He turned to Lauren. “If Dr. Kaminsky calls, could you take a message?”

  Lauren went back to the sink, feeling a knot coil i
n her stomach. Although the police had released her after a few hours, Lauren knew Claire was still their number-one suspect. A team of investigators from the homicide division were collecting evidence against her. They had interviewed neighbours, colleagues, relatives, babysitters. Lauren was fully aware that when a child died under dubious circumstances, the parents were suspect, and in this case, all the evidence pointed to Claire. She had been alone with Ariel when she died—alone in a locked house. In fact, Walter Rodden, a neighbour who had a key, had let the paramedics in. Anya had arrived minutes later to find Claire in a desperate state; she was so incoherent she couldn’t carry on a conversation. There was no indication of forced entry or that anyone else had come into the house that day. Claire would be under the umbrella of suspicion until they could prove otherwise. Lauren promised herself she would do everything she could to get Claire cleared. But it wasn’t going to be easy.

  The phone rang. Assuming it was Dr. Kaminsky, Lauren picked it up without checking the caller ID.

  “Baby killer,” snarled a voice at the other end.

  Lauren was so startled she dropped the phone. Bram had told her they’d been receiving nasty calls. Ariel’s death had become headline news, both locally and nationally. Reporters had been calling and even showing up on their doorstep. She sometimes spotted them on the university campus. They sought out Claire’s students and questioned them. Gossip and rumours were spreading. People who once supported Claire now doubted her innocence. There had been requests for Bram to appear on various news outlets, but he refused them all. Lauren picked up the phone and placed it in its cradle. What kind of people made calls like that?

  She was wiping down the kitchen counter when the phone rang again. This time she checked the ID: Paddy’s Arm Medical Clinic.

  “Hello?”

  “May I please speak to Bram Warren? This is Dr. Kaminsky returning his call.”

  “Bram can’t come to the phone right now. This is Lauren.” She explained the predicament they were in. “Claire’s…insisting on viewing Ariel’s remains. Bram is very concerned.”

  “I do not think that is even possible,” Anya said. “In any case, it is not a good idea.” Lauren could imagine Anya shaking her head, her long dark hair falling around her face. “I am just finishing up with my patients here. Please tell Bram I will drop by to check on Claire within the hour.” She paused. “In the meantime, if she becomes agitated, he can give her one of the pills I prescribed.”

  Lauren replaced the receiver, jotted down Anya’s message, and stuck it on the fridge. She had a client in half an hour and needed to get back to her office. She was putting on her coat when a loud knock came at the door. She glanced through the window, afraid it might be more reporters. Two police cruisers were sitting in the driveway.

  —

  Daniel Kerry was in his study when he learned of Claire’s indictment on the evening news. “Professor Ste Denis is charged with aggravated assault in the death of her six-month-old daughter, Ariel,” a reporter announced. “According to her lawyer, Ste Denis has already entered a plea of not guilty. A bail hearing is pending, and until that time she will be remanded to the correctional facility in Little Donegal.”

  Daniel sat up straighter in his chair. “Good heavens,” he whispered, leaning forward. He hadn’t seen Claire Ste Denis in years. She was a beautiful woman and a fine actress, but there had always been something hauntingly sad about her. Some years ago, Lauren had taken him to a production of Romeo and Juliet in which Claire played the lead role. He recalled Lauren telling him that Claire had graduated first in her class. At the time, she was dating a man twenty years older.

  On screen, a sandy-haired man—Claire’s husband, Daniel assumed—stood beside her on the courthouse steps. Claire looked dazed and disoriented as television cameras moved in like vultures.

  “The child’s body was discovered last Thursday afternoon by paramedics who had been called to the scene,” the reporter continued in voice-over. “An autopsy revealed that the cause of death was abusive head trauma.”

  The image changed to a tight shot of Claire holding a dark-eyed infant. “Since her baby’s birth, Claire Ste Denis has suffered from postpartum depression. It’s not clear if her illness has in any way contributed to the child’s death. Lauren LaVallee, lawyer for the defendant, says her client is innocent.”

  Daniel felt his heart stop. “Lauren,” he whispered, leaning forward.

  “Claire Ste Denis did not kill her baby,” Lauren said with conviction. “She will enter a plea of not guilty to the charges. We will also be addressing the matter of bail at this time.”

  Daniel’s heart doubled its beat. It was the first time he’d seen Lauren in nearly four years. She had not changed, he realized. The camera zoomed in on her as she spoke, and he watched her huge brown eyes light up her expressive face. She was still beautiful. Daniel reached for the remote and turned up the volume. Lauren must have moved to Newfoundland after they broke up. It made sense she had followed Claire there. Still as feisty as ever, he thought. She had let her chestnut hair grow long. He smiled now as she pushed strands away from her face.

  Daniel leaned forward. He still loved her, he realized, fighting back the emotions that rose in him. Even after all this time apart, he missed her—missed waking up beside her.

  A knock on his office door startled him out of his musings. His secretary poked her head into the dark panelled room. “Father Kerry, you have a call,” she said. “Archbishop Delaney is holding on line two. He says it’s important.”

  “I’ll be right there, Hazel,” Daniel said, but made no move to get up. He kept his eyes on the television.

  “If convicted, Dr. Ste Denis could serve as much as twenty years without parole,” the reporter continued.

  “Unbelievable,” Daniel muttered. Could Claire do something like this? He thought he’d heard just about everything in the confessional, but apparently he was still capable of being shocked.

  Chapter 9

  Claire stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, her mind hovering between dreaming and waking. The effects of the drugs were wearing off, the sharp edges of real life sinking in. She couldn’t remember how many hours she’d been in this concrete cell, a space so small she wondered how it was possible to cram in the narrow cot, table, and toilet. The bright light shone overhead at all times. No sound came through the solid door with its small rectangle window. But none of this mattered to Claire: Ariel was dead. She had failed to protect her beautiful baby. She knew there was pain beneath her protective shell, but still she was unable to cry. She recalled the lockup at the police station, being photographed and fingerprinted, but she felt detached from her situation, an observer rather than a participant. It was as if she’d been cast as the lead in a badly written script.

  Claire curled herself into the centre of the narrow bed and pulled her knees to her chest. Slowly the enormity of her loss was getting through to her. She would never see Ariel again. She would never see her baby take her first steps, never hear her first words. She would never see her start school. I don’t want to live without Ariel. A ragged sob rose and caught in her throat, but her eyes remained dry. This was everything she imagined hell to be.

  Bram had been allowed to see her briefly. “I’m sorry,” she’d whispered, not knowing what she was sorry for. Sorry for being depressed? Sorry for letting someone come into their house and kill their child? Lauren had promised she would do everything in her power to keep her out of prison, but that wouldn’t be enough. It’s up to me to find Ariel’s killer. I will find out what happened, Claire vowed, feeling a determination stronger than anything she’d ever felt before. No more drugs. I need to keep a clear head. She’d failed Ariel in life; she would not fail her in death. Finding her baby’s killer would be her mission, her purpose.

  —

  “This way,” the guard said as he led Lauren down a narrow grey corridor. As a defense lawye
r, she was no stranger to the local jail. Still, she felt a tug of unease as the steel door clanged shut behind her. What must it be like to wake up this place? she wondered as she was led to a room at the far end of the corridor. “If you need anything,” the guard told her, “I’ll be just outside the door.”

  Claire, wearing orange prison garb, sat at a small metal table. Harsh fluorescent lights enhanced her pale face and the dark shadows around her eyes. “Thank you for coming, Lauren,” she said.

  Lauren took a seat across from her. “We need to get you out of here. The process is taking longer than I’d anticipated.”

  “I’m sure you’re doing your best.”

  “I am, Claire, trust me.” Lauren was pleased to see her friend so alert. “I’ve talked with the homicide police. Patrick Shaw says he rang your doorbell around noon. I’m sure they’ll ask him to be more specific about the time.”

  “I went to bed shortly before noon,” Claire said. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.” She frowned. “You say the police are questioning Patrick?”

  “They are interested in the fact that you gave him a key at one time.”

  “That was months ago. Do they think he had a copy made?”

  “I’m sure the police are considering that. In any case, Patrick was at your door that day. He may have noticed something unusual.” Lauren reached for her notepad. “Is there anything at all that you remember?”

  “Not much,” Claire admitted. “I recall making a pan of squares for your visit. Afterwards, I felt tired and went to lie down. Ariel was already down for her nap.” She shrugged. “I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t remember calling the clinic, or Anya coming to the house.” Claire looked away. “Even after the police arrested me…it didn’t seem real.”

  Lauren nodded, recalling how detached Claire had appeared that day. “The police haven’t ruled out your neighbour, Walter Rodden, as a suspect.”

  “No, the Roddens are our friends. I gave them a key shortly after they moved here—more than a year ago now. Milly, Walter’s wife, works at the clinic. Bram told me she was on duty when I called. Milly telephoned Walter in case the door was locked.”